Again
Lightholder Tavern ''' ---- ::''It is said - primarily by the proprietor, a jovial merchant-classer named Solas Creek - that all roads in Fastheld lead to the Lightholder Tavern. On any given night, it's not hard to see why he might justify such a claim. ::''The pub, which started centuries ago as a small refreshment wagon for laborers building Fastheld Keep atop Caryas Hill, sees boisterous crowds filling its rafters with laughter and pipe smoke at all hours of the day and night as travelers make their way through the realm. ::''About three dozen tables are arranged among the polished wooden columns on which hang the wrought-iron lanterns that help give the tavern its name. Solas or one of his assistants can usually be found working behind a wide C-shaped counter, serving mugs of keg-tapped ale to thirsty patrons who stand at the bar. ::''The floor is strewn with amber rushes, except in a circle of about twenty feet in diameter, where the stone fireplace and chimney rise toward the ceiling. ---- Celeste dips her head to the Nillu at the kiss and drops her hand back to her lap. "It is a pleasure, my lord. How did you come by meeting my cousin?" The Mikin woman and Soreis are sitting at a table near the entrance, seeming to talk while waiting for Karell to return from the bar. Soreis Nillu shrugs his shoulders, "We only met moments ago," he replies to Celeste, "As we both sought refuge from the storm in this tavern." The man lifts up the mug infront of him and takes a sip of his wine. Karell Mikin returns with the two drinks in hand, though a first slight happens when he picks them up and slight stuttered footwork causes a generous splash of his own glass to add a little more moisture to his glove. He is in the stage of drying out from being soaked through, however, so it doesn't make a great deal of difference. Karell places the drinks carefully back onto the table, looking across to Celeste as he places her with a slight flush. He sits down and finishes his original drink in one. To some, the tap-tapping of a staff on the ground might be all too familiar; this is the sound that invariably accompanies the entrance of Milora Lomasa. She is dressed in glimmering ringmail that does not have an audiable jingle because of its exceedingly good quality; however, there is a soft padding from her white leather boots along with the click of Juriatale on the floor. Sir Wagsalot is given an affectionate squeeze on the muzzle as she passes him; he seems pleased to see her, as dogs will be, but not overly excited. "If only the storms could cease for a few days," Celeste offers and smiles up to Karell when he returns. Her gaze lowers to the stain and then up to his eyes with a questioning look, though she takes her own from him. "Thank you, cousin. Lord Nillu was telling me how you had only just met and here I am intruding." "No intrusion, Lady Mikin." Soreis comments politely, before looking over at Karell as he returns. The man's gaze then shifts down at the half-empty mug sitting infront of him. "I am sure you will only appreciate her further company, Celeste is... A darb gem." Karell says across to the Nillu before looking across to the other Mikin with a slight chiding expression, it pulls back to smiling in a slightly flustered way before he follows her gaze. Looking down at his hand Karell only looks more disconcerted and places it quickly on his knee, under the table. "Ineptitude with a glass." he mutters, keeping his gaze down. Bypassing the bar, the Arbiter scans the tavern. The table at which the two gentlemen and the lady sit is selected and made a beeline for; turning her staff so that she is holding it horizontally in both hands, she peers at each of the individuals. "Lady Mikin, I've come to interrupt another of your conversations." Celeste goes to laugh at some part of Karell's words, but a wince travels to her expression and chases away such mirth at the call of her name. "If you could excuse me a moment," she mummers to the two lords. Her hand dropping to Karell's shoulder as she rises to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Your grace," a quick curtsy. "And how may I assist you this evening?" Soreis Nillu leans back in his chair, his blue eyes taking a curious look at the new arrival to the table. Taking a swig of his mug, he opts not to say anything for the moment, simply sitting on the side lines of the conversation. He takes a quick glance in Karell's direction. "Your grace." Karell echoes, looking back up to Milora with a polite nod. He doesn't stand, left in stillness as the hand falls to his shoulder. Curious glances all around, specifically between the two women. Karell is ignored (pointedly, in fact); Milora's eyebrows twitch as she nods in response to Celeste. "I told you that I would not be ignored a second time; we are now free of interruptions by a certain second duchal party, so I would like to speak to you." Celeste's lips quirk into a wry, but tired smile. "And I stated that I was not too quick to dash off alone after many of our last encounters have gone, your grace. Again, I must inquire in what regards that you need to speak with me." Another gentle squeeze to her kinsman shoulder. The Mikin Lord only looks a little hurt that Milora made such a point to ignore him, and his gaze absently falls back to the man sitting opposite him. He attempts a bewildered expression, taking his glass and sipping at a little more than a recommended pace. "Is it really necessary that we have this conversation again?" Milora rolls her eyes upward. "Alright, I will be honest. I want to kill you, Lady Mikin. I mean to take you into an inn room and plunge two or three arrows through you. Well enough?" She's exasperated. "What could I /possibly/ do to you in a public establishment without being caught? You are obviously just attempting to provoke me and I will have none of it. If you will not come without further arguement, then do not come at all and than I will send you a red letter demanding with Tribunal authority that you come to speak to me on /Lomasa/ territory where I /may/ essentially do as I please if you disrespect me in this way. Now, won't you check your pride for two minutes and come elsewhere with me?" "It is not pride that stays my feet, Lady Arbiter... but caution," notes Celeste in a darker tone. "Or have you forgotten of your stay at the Hope?" She arches a blonde brow to the Lomasa and waves a hand to the stairs. "I will grant an audience, just to know what seems of such dire important to bring a duchess to speak with me." The Mikin Baron looks uncomfortable, his hand wavering in it's place for a moment as he attempts to have a brief catchup of the conversation. With a frown, he pushes himself to his feet and says, "Duchess, please..." a slightly pleading tone pulls at his voice, but it's obvious he's restraining himself. "I do not know what has come to pass, but there is no need to be so..." he trails off, unable to look at either of them (they'd turn him to stone). "I do appreciate you /barely/ acknowledging my rank, Lady Mikin." Milora, stony-faced, conducts Celeste with her staff, gesturing toward the performer's hall. "Please do not act as though you are doing me a favour by 'granting me an audience'. It is very condescending and rude." Karell gets a sharp look, and then Celeste receives a nod and a 'one moment'. She bends her head down to look directly at Karell's face, even if he denies her eye contact. "When I was young, my mother taught me never to openly question the behavior of someone superior to me unless I knew them on an intimate level and had an equally intimate understanding of the situation at hand. Do not speak to me so casually, Lord Mikin." Her tone is gentle. Straightening again, she nods toward the hall. "Madam." Celeste arches a brow and waves a staying hand to Karell. "Later, cousin. We will speak when her grace has had her say. Shall we, your grace?" She gives a gentle wave to the noblemen and turns to walk up the stairs. Soreis Nillu sits quietly at the table, watching as things unfold and takes one last swig of his mug of wine. "Very well. The distinction is painfully obvious." Karell says flatly, looking back to Milora as she does he, with an equally cold expression, "I apologise." only a quick glance is given back to Celeste before he places himself back down. A short sour look takes him as he resumes drinking. Milora walks with precision and a cement expression into the performer's hall, barely lifting a brow as Celeste heads in another direction - she does not appear to find that behavior strange. '''The Lightholder Tavern Performance Hall ---- ::This wing of the tavern juts off to form the lower branch of the 'L' of its structural design, supported by a series of polished wooden columns hung with wrought-iron lanterns that are usually kept at their dimmest setting to keep the mood as subdued and creative as possible. ::''As in the main room, the floor here is strewn with rushes to soak up spills, but a rather large rectangular space is open in the midst of the tables, providing ample space for patrons to dance should they feel so inclined. ::''Two stages dominate the west and east walls of the performance hall. The west stage is reserved for musical performers, from soloists to entire musical cadres, while the smaller east stage is used by storytellers. ---- Entering with a set jaw, Milora leans her staff against the wall beside the door and moves to make a pace through the room and between the instruments, folding her hands in front of her. Celeste closes the door behind her, leaning her back to the wooden surface and just... watching. The Mikin seems to stand with the patience of the ancients or that of the wise old man on the hill, waiting day in and out for enlightenment. Her gaze strays every so often to the musical instruments, the quiet tables, and the slowly returning to the other woman. At last, Milora turns to look at Celeste - immediately she wrinkles her nose in distaste and then turns away again. She says nothing, but appears to be turning something sour-tasting over in her mouth; her shoulders are square and her face is grim and determined. Celeste notes the look of distaste, unfazed and even expectant. "If you wish me to go, your grace... I can. The woman who was my friend has been dead for quite some time and it pains me to look upon the shadow that remains as it does for you to be in my presence." There's a pained honesty to the Mikin's words and she even leans away from the door to pull it open. "That is the first issue that I would like to address. Why do you think that it is appropriate to speak to me in that way?" Milora looks directly at Celeste, calm and cool. "Because someone has to, your grace. Otherwise you will continue to trample upon the people about you and their feelings. There is not disrespect to my words," Celeste states gently, stepping away from the door. "Only honesty that I would have shared with a friend. Do you even watch the effect you have on people anymore? Where is the woman who laughed and was a joy to be about? Did she die in the Verdigris, your grace? There... with her innocence?" The Mikin taps lightly to the corset about her waist. "You are lost, your grace. Call my words cruel or unjust, but I remember the girl who once spoke me as a friend when I ached for one. That never put herself higher than others and befriended those about her with a smile and good cheer. Now, you wear your titles like a barbed cloak. Always a slight perceived, even in the kindest of words." "You know nothing about which you speak," Milora says, confidently and calmly, "and you are inferior to me in rank, title and situation. I therefore insist that you treat me respectfully." She inclines her head. Celeste's move. "I have, your grace," Celeste states flatly and turns to pull the door open. "In fact you have not, and I think that you know that. Stay here, I am not through with you. You will from this point forward cease to speak down to me in any way, shape or form, or I will seek compensation for the slight to my honour." "How strange," the smaller blonde continues, her voice even and her eyes half-closed with mellowness, "that you speak of the person you describe as my 'former self' with such affection. You describe me as having befriended you in a time when you required a friend desperately; I daresay you would admit that I was always a perfect peach to you, to put it slangily. During the course of our friendship your loyalty to me was tested twice; the first was a grave mistake on my part (which, I am certain it will satisfy you to know, has haunted me to this day) following which you utterly abandoned me when I sought you out for gentle guidance, instead choosing to tell me repetitively that what I had done was wrong (which, believe me, I already knew on a very deep level) rather than grant me the /friendship/ that I desperately needed. "On the second occasion, I was driven to an outburst against you by an accumulation of stress fortified by your behavior, which I can only describe as 'evidently narcissistic' and which was quite maddening to me at the time. Note that I do not say that it /was/ narcissistic, only that I perceived it as such. Although harsh and inappropriate, this speech of mine to you contained elements of honesty and truth. I have since reacted in a very similar way towards others who are close to me; you are entirely singular in your reaction. Unlike them, you refused to consider that any of the flaws that I pointed out in you might possibly have been actual and not simply perceived. You did not consider it strange that someone who was so fervently affectionate towards you before would suddenly behave in this way, and that something might be wrong and that I might require your /strong/ friendship once again at that point in my life. You chose from that point to speak only ill of me. "I know this." She remains relaxed. Celeste shakes her head, hand tapping lightly to the knob. "Friendship with a price," she notes under her breath before taking a deep breathe. "I tried to stress the importance of making amends because I knew what it was like to falter. There is little you ever knew of my past, your grace. Little ever sought to know. Even when we spoke at Herron Hall, I spoke only to you in kindness. I came to East Leg seeking a friend who in turn abused me even further for her own... dare I say, pleasure? How am I to know what is acceptable when my dearest friend turns nemesis in the blink of an eye. Would you have talked to me... truly? " Her eyes wincing at the remembered fight. "My friendship in you never wavered, your grace, until you chose to treat me like nothing more than a beaten dog for your abuse... and continue to do so." She looks over her shoulder and meets the Lomasa with a level gaze. "How much abuse must one endure to be your friend? I've watched how you once treated the Firelights with kindness. Only to have you recently abuse them in their convalescent state. If you sought a friend, your grace, you had but to ask instead of demand. If there is one who should seek compensation, it is myself for enduring the slights and abuse for trying to be your friend and step lightly about you. There's no slight to your personage, nor has their ever been. It is not I who called you a whore, heretic or a great many disparaging names, your grace. I have only wished for the best for you and your House even when all you wished to do was wound." "This is my nature," Milora says quietly, a smile coming to her face. "I was to the Firelights' yesterday. They are doing well; they respect me and treat me with kindness and I am happy to return the favour. I think that you take the issue of my having a temper a little too seriously - but that is not /my/ fault. It is you - and only you who has an issue with the matter, because every single other person at whom I have screamed and ranted in the past is currently on good if not /very/ good terms with me. It is you. Now, will you say that everyone is wrong, misguided, or foolish except you?" "I would say that you burn like a fire and whereas such actions have taught me a great deal of... patience." Celeste laughs ruefully to the last words. "Should you but see the wounded dummies in my salle, you might not that you are not the *only* one with a temper." She turns and presses her back to the door, slumping against it. "So you say that I must stand there, be called a whore... and a great many other words. To have to continuously explain to my *matriarch* that you have... a temper." "First, I have never called you a whore," is the calm reply. "Ever. I /have/, however, called Meian much worse and apologized profoundly for it, because she is a good girl who deserves respect and affection and because I had no right to behave that way in the first place. When I am angry, Celeste, I raise my voice and use very hurtful words that mean absolutely /nothing/. I have a foul mouth, not a hateful heart. With regards to your matriarch, I do not think that my behavior is much of her concern - or at least, it should not be." "It is when you send her letters, Milora," Celeste states with a wry smile. "They... you are not the one who has to explain the whys. Nor have I claimed you to have a black heart..." She reaches up to pluck free a jade comb. "Your temper I never saw until we came back. How is one to know?" "Ahh." The Arbiter smiles. "I am still waiting on a response to that letter; you may tell her so. As it is, that was a vessel regarding /your/ behavior and not mine; if she is questioning my actions, it is absolutely inappropriate for her to do so. That is a matter, however, that I shall take up with her if she so wishes it; it is not your repsonsibility to bear messages. Now that you have mentioned it, I will contact her again." She inclines her head a second time, stepping forward. "Have you heard how Meian reacted the very first time I was ever horrid to her, Lady Mikin?" "She cried, your grace," Celeste states flatly. "My words meant as a missive of my matriarch, she is quite able to send her own couriers. And I am sure that she will answer it when she is ready to for I do not speak for her. I am sorry that you believed my words to be otherwise." Her gaze lowers to the combs. "My behavior was to explain that I had rented a room for those who were staying in the shadow district who had also made my acquaintance. And since we've touched on such matters, and your cause for speaking to me was that of Arbiter... what did you need to speak of?" "I maintain that this is little of your business, currently." The woman carries on in her own vein, self-assured and brisk. "Meian Firelight, Skygleam at the time, looked at me with sympathetic eyes (this is a time before the time to which you are referring, further evidence to that you are ill informed) and asked me, in the face of all of my rage, why I was so unhappy. At that moment, I knew that I must have her for my own friend and counselor. Truly good hearts are few and far between. I would later call her a number of wretched things, for which she would, when I had come to my senses and pricked my own pride enough to humble myself to her, forgive me as fully, easily and effortlessly as a saint. She is a rose among weeds, Lady Mikin ... but you know this. You are fortunate to have formed such an alliance. More than all of this, however, she behaved, always, as a /friend/." Celeste looks up from the comb and shakes her head. "Your grace, I believe we have dwelled too much to personal affairs and should deal with the business at hand. Why would the Arbiter need to speak with me," she inquires with gentle but firm tone. The Mikin steps back to lean against a table. Fingers playing along the teeth of the comb as though finding strength there. "If I have not made my point clear to you by now, madam, I never shall," Milora says with dignity, tilting her head almost birdlike. Her hands are still folded demurely before her. "I have sought you out to be on friendly terms with you again; at least, on cordial terms. I do not expect that we will ever be close again, at least not until /both/ of us have significantly corrected ourselves. To be fully honest, I do not desire you as a sister. I will still demand that you treat me with the respect to which my position entitles me. But I would like there to be no more of this silliness." She looks meaningfully at the former Scourge. "Consider this my olive branch." Celeste flicks a finger to her comb, it holding her attention for the moment. "This silliness? I have never shown you disrespect, your grace. When I question, you see it as slight. No one is flawless, your grace, have you not learned that yet? One does not learn truth until they've taken the time to ask the questions that needed to be answered. Such as why you were so angry that night in the Lost Hope." She shakes her head, with an air of tiredness. "Your grace, as I have said before, I've borne neither you or your husband any ill will or insult. Yet, I'm the one who has suffered insult after insult with little mercy or understanding at your hands. Will you offer me an apology or merely an olive branch to one hand and a whip in the other should I question too deeply?" "Yes," replies the Arbiter simply. She, on the other hand, shows no sign of exhaustion - just enduring, alert patience and coolness. "To question me /is/ to slight me, Lady Mikin, especially as you have no right to do so. The issue of the evening in the Lost Hope will be dealt with at a later time. I will allow, however, that you have a point, so I will offer you an apology: I am sorry for behaving as I have toward you." "Then I am sorry my actions have wounded you, Lady Arbiter," Celeste says calmly. "In questioning comes answers... and truth. Be vigilant and walk in the Light, your grace." She pushes away from the table and takes a moment to position the comb to her hair, her gaze returning the Lomasa. "I want no answers from you, Lady Mikin. There are others from whom I would accept such manners, who have already earned the right to speak to me on such terms. For now, you are little different to me from any other viscountess." Milora advances on the door, seizes her staff and, unless Celeste still obstructs it, moves to exit. "Good night." "But of course," Celeste waves a hand to the Lomasa. "Again, insult where there is none. Light Keep you, Your Grace." She remains at the side of the table. "Again, you misunderstand me." Smiling grimly, the Arbiter exits. ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs